


i won't let us fall apart

by phanqueray



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PJO, PJO AU, phil hates himself :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 18:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanqueray/pseuds/phanqueray
Summary: Dan feels guilty, his boyfriend, who is near death, is making him tea for his fever. (PJO AU where Phil is a demigod and Dan is just a mortal who can see through the Mist)





	i won't let us fall apart

He was 72 minutes late.

Dan heard the door of their flat open and the faint footsteps echo around their empty hallways. His eyes flew open and he found himself waking up cocooned in his blanket, warmth barely seeping into him. He shivers under it, biting his lip at the feeling of the reality of his sickness.

Stupid fever.

He tries to get up without a sound, grabbing the edges of his soft duvet and hugging himself for comfort. When his feet hit the carpet, he hears Phil’s attempt at making it to the lounge quietly, his grunt as loud as the chair he attempted to sit on after it fell. Dan shuffles a little faster, trying to ignore how much the room is spinning and how dizzy he’s getting.

Stupid boyfriend.

He makes it across the hallway, silently cursing whenever a little wind gushes over him and sends him into a pack of shivers. The whole flat is unlit, so Dan has to squint to see where his roommate is, his hand feeling the walls as an attempt to find the light switch. Soon enough, he clicks it open and he’s met with the sight that’s depressingly normal.

Phil lies still on their sofa crease. His lip is cut, his hands are full of scratches. His ‘Captain America’ shirt was full of cuts, as if a dog had found its favourite snack. He has a throbbing black eye and his shoulder seemed to be bleeding. His dagger threatened to fall out of his grasp and onto the floor. His breaths are shallow and yet, when Dan coughed to get his attention, the son of Poseidon opens his eyes lightly and stares at him for a moment, scanning his surroundings as if on edge.

He frowns. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s late.”

_Stupid boyfriend._

“You’re late.”

Phil’s eyes droop slightly but he seems to force them open. “I’m sorry,” he says, in sync with a heavy sigh. “There was a killer vampire wanting my blood on the Tube.”

 _Empousa_. Dan thinks.

It’s been 5 years since they met, since Phil had stabbed an _Empousa_ right in front of Dan’s eyes in the Manchester Picadilly station. He was 18 that time, and Phil was 22. Everything was confusing.

“What the fuck was that?” Dan asked, eyebrows knitted, looking at the ginger roots growing at the base of the person in front of him.

Phil winced, as if Dan had screamed right at his ear, which he did. But his shoulder tensed up at Dan’s confusion and directed his dagger right at the teen. Dan raised his hands up as if he was being arrested, the tip of Phil’s weapon extremely close to his neck. The busy station didn’t seem to notice this abnormal scene, which confused Dan even more.

Phil’s eyebrows unknot and he lowered his dagger, which glittered bronze. His eyes scanned Dan’s face and his shoulders relaxed the slightest. He wore an orange shirt and a leather necklace that hung 9 beads, each bead signifying a year he spent at Camp Half-Blood, the camp for people like him.

 _Demigods_ , the product of various godly affairs with mortals.

“You can see me?” Phil asked, voice cautious.

“Well, yeah. You’re not that hard to miss.” Dan gestured to his bright orange shirt.

“Mortal?” He asked and Dan found himself slightly offended.

“Why? Are you not?”

“The Mist isn’t working.” Phil mumbled, probably to himself, but Dan heard him. He didn’t know what the Mist was before that, that it was some shield that fooled humans from ever seeing the world of gods and monsters, but Dan could see right through it.

“Who even are you?” Dan asked.

Phil’s eyes widened and his grip on his dagger tightened and he yelled, “Duck!”

Dan wanted to argue but his knees shot down right before Phil’s blade slashed through where his head had been, killing the sister of the monster he’d just killed.

“Hi, Duck,” Dan joked, yet he didn’t know why he was calm. Even Phil seemed shaken at his steadiness. “I’m Dan.”

“Phil.”

The air smelled like sulfur.

Actually the air still smells like sulfur, the dust of the _empousa_ Phil had killed on the train covered him in a thin layer. Dan hadn’t even realized how badly hurt he was, a third of his shirt is soaked in blood, there’s a cut at his breast that ran deeper than normal. Dan wants to help him but he didn’t even get the chance to touch him before he sits up at the sofa.

“Do you want tea?” Phil asks, his voice barely above a whisper. It washes over Dan like a bucket full of comfort. His blue eyes sparkled, Dan always felt at sea whenever Phil is around, from his scent of salt water (mixed with strong demigod stink, Dan guessed. That’s how monsters find him) to the way the colors of his eyes seem to change, once a sun bleached day at sea, now a dark almost sluggish blue-green hues that storm clouds usually conjured.

Dan blinks. “Okay,” is all he manages to say.

Phil lumbers out the lounge door and scurries into their kitchen, Dan on his tail. They tour their apartment, their nice cozy home for about three years. He remembers all the stories Phil has about Camp Half-Blood back in America. He never saw the place (Mortals were forbidden) but Phil described it in detail, how the strawberry fields looked like, how intimidating the Big House was (and how creepy the skeleton that held the Oracle of Delphi was whenever it spilled out prophecies from the attic), he told him about a lake that he’d love to show Dan. The place held Phil’s deepest history, a collection of bittersweet memories that he’d repeat back at Dan.

Dan wonders if their little London duplex will ever top the years worth of Phil’s life. It isn’t as big as the hill of the camp, but it kept them away from all the gods in Olympus, yet closer to each other. He wonders if Phil misses CHB or if he preferred it over a city in Britain.

Dan’s head spins again, either from the fever or from the things he keeps on thinking.

They arrive at the kitchen, watching out for the glass door that always fooled them. Phil pushes it open and holds the door for Dan. He gets a stool and Dan awkwardly sits behind a kitchen counter as his boyfriend opens a cupboard and begins making him tea.

He feels guilty, Phil’s shoulder is bleeding yet he’s the one tending for Dan.

_Stupid fever._

Dan isn’t completely useless, though. He knows there’s a cabinet right next to his right leg. He opens it slowly and takes out a flask of nectar and ambrosia, the only medicine to heal the types of wounds Phil usually gets. Too little does nothing but too much will kill him. Dan puts the nectar in a shot glass they got back in Crete and the ambrosia on a small platter.

Phil told him that they taste like the demigod’s comfort food. He once said that it tasted like the popcorn they shared after watching Wall-E for the first time. The thought makes him smile.

He shivers again when his palms touch the cold marble. His hands grab the duvet and hugs himself tightly, feeling silly when he sees Phil’s face covered in faded scars. Dan wasn’t super shocked when Phil told him about being a child of a god. He would’ve guessed he was at least from Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, because he certainly looked the part.

Phil turns and sets the mug in front of Dan with a small smile when he sees the thing Dan prepared. His eyes soften and he runs his hand through his hair, fluffing it into a tall quiff that Dan secretly preferred over his outdated fringe. It takes him a moment to realize that Phil’s eyes are already brimming with tears.

Dan sniffs and blows on his mug a little, watching Phil down the shot of nectar and bite-sized ambrosia. They stay in silence for a little while longer.

He breaks it first. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Phil smiles and he can’t help but feel like his heart did a spin. He won’t look at him but Dan can still see the tears spilling on the marble. Phil’s breaths become heavy and Dan loses all his feverish feelings and beelines to his boyfriend, holding his shaking shoulders and sitting beside him, his head on Dan’s shoulders.

Dan knows what Phil’s thinking.

“Don’t apologize,” he says automatically.

“I’m so sorry.” He still said.

Dan stays silent, his hand flat on his back.

“All I want is for you to be safe. All I want is for us to be _normal_. Gods keep calling me, monsters keep reforming from dust. I feel so suffocated. Is this what it’s like to drown?”

Phil can’t drown by design, no matter how he tried. He couldn’t even get wet unless he wanted to. Though, Dan keeps having to wake him up from nightmares, not demigod-voodoo-type of nightmares that warned them about the bad things that happened in the world, he woke him up from claustrophobic nightmares, places where he couldn’t seem to breathe.

“You don’t deserve a mistake like me.”

That hurt to listen to.

“Phil,” he says, coating his tongue with all the comfort he has, “don’t say that. You’re my best friend. You’re everything to me. It hurts that you see yourself that way, you are extremely more than ‘just a mistake’. Be kinder to yourself.”

Phil doesn’t talk for a moment. His tears have stopped. He looks at Dan, smiles and gives a light sigh. “I love you.”

It rings in Dan’s ears like a bell from the love goddess. He didn’t expect hearing those words tonight but his heart soars. His hands find their ways up to Phil’s cheeks, his thumb slowly wiping the trail of a lone tear.

“I love you too.”


End file.
